


Moving with the Times

by GrumpyGhostOwl



Series: Battle of the Planets: 2163 [30]
Category: Battle of the Planets
Genre: Coffee, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 10:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10717884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyGhostOwl/pseuds/GrumpyGhostOwl
Summary: Jason and Chief Anderson don't see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, but there is one thing about which they always agree.





	Moving with the Times

It was a well-known fact among those who had much to do with David Anderson that the General-in-Chief of Galaxy Security was not a morning person.  
  
His protective services detail, who had more to do with Chief Anderson than most, knew this very well and made it their business to ensure, whenever possible, that if there was an early start required, there was plenty of coffee on hand.  
  
Chief Anderson early in the morning with coffee was something they could cope with.  
  
Chief Anderson early in the morning without coffee was a thought that sent shivers down the spines of hardened career officers.  
  
Even Gunnery Sergeant McAllister, whose time in the Marines had seen him invalided out after he survived some serious injuries defending Federation interests on Riga, got a little concerned if Anderson hadn’t had his coffee by the time McAllister reported for duty.  
  
Even though he very clearly wasn’t a morning person, Chief Anderson was in the habit of arriving early to work in an attempt to avoid the Center City gridlock which usually started to peak around 0700 and gradually worsened right up until shortly after 0900, which was when the traffic sped up to a crawl.  
  
Thus it was that when Chief Anderson and his security detail arrived at the ISO Tower for their usual early start on this particular Monday morning to find that the usual drip filter coffee maker in the executive kitchen had been replaced, there was some consternation.  
  
The consternation in question began at 0704, when Lieutenant Simpson, who had only just joined the squad (and therefore, had all the horror stories of what Galaxy Security’s Chief of Staff could be like without his coffee fresh in his mind) walked into the executive kitchen and noticed that Mister Coffee was missing.  
  
The new coffee machine was not a simple drip filter with a pot. It was some kind of electronic device. The device had a glossy black metal housing with bright stainless steel accents. It was compact. It was streamlined. It had a touch-screen with a user menu. It had a single idiot-style stop/go button whose LED changed colour depending on how stupid the machine thought its user was being.  
  
The machine squatted ominously on the kitchen counter and _hummed_.  
  
“What are we going to do?” Lieutenant Simpson asked. The junior officer had taken one look at the new coffee machine and decided to go for help.  
  
Help, in this instance, was the security detail’s senior officer, Major Shay Alban, who was in the elevator lobby, completing shift hand-over.  
  
Major Alban dismissed the night shift, folded her arms and nodded in the general direction of the executive kitchen. “Is there a manual anywhere?” she asked, reasoning that since Simpson was male, there was a possibility that in his world, instructions were something that happened to the other 52% of the population.  
  
“Uh…” Simpson said.  
  
“Ethan,” Shay drawled, “do you know what my Gran’ma used to say?”  
  
This resulted in a blank look from the young lieutenant.  
  
Eventually, Shay decided to put Simpson out of his misery. “If all else fails,” she said, “read the instructions.”  
  
“Yes, Major,” Simpson said, colouring slightly with embarrassment. “I’ll go look.”  
  
Shay Alban took a couple of breaths, mentally calculated the likelihood that Galaxy Security would have done anything as sensible as leaving the instruction manual for a new coffee machine in the executive kitchen, and retreated down the corridor toward her office, which had the advantage of being at the other end of the floor from Chief Anderson’s office.  
  
  
  
At 0723, David Anderson finished checking his e-mail and noticed that nobody had brought him his usual cup of coffee. He stood, strolled out of the office and made his way to the executive kitchen.  
  
G-2 was leaning against the counter nursing a cup of coffee. The aroma was heavenly.  
  
“You’re in early, Jason,” Anderson observed.  
  
“You wanted to see us at nine,” Jason said with a shrug. “I could’ve stayed at home and waited to experience the joys of gridlock, or I could come in early, bring my racing logs up to date, catch up with the guys in R and D and make the meeting with time to spare. Guess which one made more sense?”  
  
“So, how’s the coffee?” Anderson asked.  
  
“It’s good coffee,” Jason said.  
  
Anderson considered the sleek new coffee machine. It had two bays at the front and two spouts for delivering beverages. Two clear plastic tanks contained coffee beans and water, respectively. There was a milk frother to one side. It looked fairly straightforward: tell the machine to heat the water, grind the coffee, force said water under pressure through the grounds and into the cup.  
  
Anderson began negotiating the user menu. He selected his preferred options and pressed the button to start the coffee-making process.  
  
The machine buzzed and the tell-tale indicator turned red.  
  
Anderson hit the ‘cancel’ button and started again.  
  
Once more, the machine displayed its red light and declined to deliver any coffee.  
  
Anderson frowned at it.  
  
The machine lacked a facial analogue, so it couldn’t frown back, but Anderson got the distinct impression that it was being a bit of a smug bastard.  
  
Jason was drinking his coffee and apparently pretending not to notice that anything was amiss, which pretty much passed for tact where Jason was concerned.  
  
Anderson hit the ‘cancel’ button again and accessed the menu a third time.  
  
The machine buzzed and the idiot light went red again.  
  
“Is there an instruction manual for this thing?” Anderson demanded.  
  
“Yes, sir,” Jason said. “They’re all down in the quartermaster’s store. It’s locked. They get in at eight.”  
  
Anderson took a deep breath. “Eight?”  
  
“Eight.”  
  
Anderson folded his arms and glowered at the coffee machine. He counted to ten, considered his options and decided to admit defeat. “You managed to get this thing to work?”  
  
“Not exactly,” Jason said. “May I?”  
  
Anderson pinched the bridge of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. “If you’d be so kind.”  
  
Jason put his coffee cup down on the counter and lifted his wrist to speak into his communicator. “Zark, you got ears on?”  
  
The artificial voice of 7-Zark-7 said, _“Center Neptune Control. Hello, Jason. What can I do for you?”_  
  
“Hey Zark,” Jason said, “Could you tell the coffee machine to make another cup? It’s for the Chief.”  
  
_“Of course,”_ the robot said. _“You know my FOSDIC is specially designed for interfacing with other systems. I have both intuitive and heuristic algorithms – And there we go! Is there anything else I can help you with?”_  
  
The tell-tale indicator on the coffee machine turned green and the coffee beans moved in the tank as a grinding noise and the sublime aroma of freshly ground coffee began to emanate from the machine.  
  
“Thanks, Zark,” Jason said. “You may have just saved the entire executive floor.”  
  
_“It’s always my pleasure to help,”_ the robot said. _“Center Neptune Control, out!”_ The channel closed and Jason picked up his coffee mug again.  
  
The machine gurgled and hissed, then a fragrant stream of coffee issued forth into Anderson’s cup.  
  
When the mug was full, Anderson picked it up and sampled the contents. His taste-buds rejoiced and sent shiny happy signals to his brain. Still, there was the issue of process…  
  
“I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, Jason,” Anderson said, “but did you just use this agency’s most advanced, powerful and mission-critical artificial intelligence cybernaut to _make a cup of coffee_?”  
  
“Nope,” Jason said. “I used him to make _two_ cups of coffee. Once the war’s over, I see a stellar career ahead of Zark as a robot barista.”  
  
It was difficult to argue with a good cup of coffee. “We’re going to need those manuals,” Anderson muttered, and headed back to his office, coffee in hand.


End file.
